Drop Dead Gorgeous by Suki McMinn Page A

was on. When she glanced up, she noticed Derek wasn’t looking at the screen, but just above it.
    “If I fall asleep...” she started.
    “I’ll put you in bed and lock you in before I go.”
    She nodded and gave him a squeeze, and very soon, was fast asleep.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    Walking home from Clara’s after tucking her into bed, Derek considered Raymond’s warning that things could get messy if he continued his relationship with Clara. No matter how strong Derek’s resolve to stay away, he simply couldn’t. He loved her so much and even more so now. She still loved him and accepted him in spite of what he was. He wondered how he would feel if the situation were reversed but simply couldn’t imagine it. Since he’d been killed, his life was full of unimaginable things.
    When he came in the front door he found Terence alone reading in his chair by the fire. Derek said a quick hello and kept walking towards the stairs.
    “Derek,” Terence said. “Have a seat.”
    He stopped and went back to sit on the sofa. “What’s up?”
    Terence closed his book and set it on the table beside him.
    Derek could feel that no one else was in the house. “Where’s Raymond?”
    “He took the van to get the rest of Billy’s things. It’s the end of the month. They’ll haul off anything left in his apartment once the rent stops, and they realize he has no family.”
    “Oh. I should have gone to help.”
    “That’s okay. He has help.”
    Derek nodded.
    “So, how are things going?”
    “Fine.”
    “You know, you can tell me things. Things you shouldn’t tell Madeline.”
    “Okay. Good to know.” He knew where this was going.
    “You’ve gone to the girl. The one with the Santa Barbara house.”
    “Yes.”
    “She obviously loves you and your magic doesn’t work on her – am I right?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “That’s what I figured. Madeline must be getting sloppy. She never would have taken you if she’d known about the girl.”
    “We’d only met a few days before I died.”
    “Really? Well, that explains why Madeline didn’t know. She must be something to already be in love with you after a few days. I mean really love you – not just lust for you because of how you look. You know it’s real or your magic would work on her.”
    “Yes, she is special.”
    “You’re going to have to be careful. No matter what, she can never know where the nest is.”
    “I trust her.”
    “I know, but it’s for her safety as well as ours. She can’t ever come here.”
    “You’re right. I got it. Don’t worry.”
    Terence shook his head. “I can’t imagine what a mess you must be in. This can only end badly. I can’t tell you what to do, but think of the girl.”
    “Haven’t you – any of you, ever had someone? Don’t you miss it?”
    “You get used to being alone. Ask Raymond about it sometime. He had someone. They were so good at keeping it a secret, Madeline didn’t know about her either. He went back to her afterwards. They had some time together.”
    “Why was she a secret?”
    Terence looked at the portrait over the mantel of a pale beauty wrapped in a sheet lying across a bed, a cell phone to her ear. The woman had a tangle of long blonde hair and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the back of her hand.
    “She was white,” Derek said, answering his own question and suddenly realizing the significance of the portrait Raymond had painted.
    “Yes. In the sixties, interracial couples were uncommon – almost as uncommon as successful black painters. Madeline took him because she loved his paintings. That was his gift. In the nineties, she orchestrated renewed attention to his work; he’d been professionally ignored when he was alive. She’s made a small fortune selling his paintings, but she couldn’t sell that one.”
    “How could a man who died in the sixties have painted a woman on a cell phone?”
    “Exactly. That painting can’t exist. It’s the only one he